


Remember Me

by jackoffjill



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Everyone Is Gay, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, danger days
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 13:37:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18181307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackoffjill/pseuds/jackoffjill
Summary: So every month he drags us to a new abandoned drugstore and makes us risk our lives so he can be the goddam colour of rebellion.





	Remember Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my bean](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+bean).



If you really wanted to know how all this started, I could tell you all descriptive and proper y'know? But honestly I cant be bothered and it's really not all that interesting.

After taking another drag from my nearly burnt out cigarette, I realized then that I should probably stop smoking. I'm hardly in shape, and I'm not exactly in a position to be messing up my lungs, especially with all the running _he_ makes me do. I knew I'd never quit, but I thought I'd humor myself. It could be worse, I could be insane, or **Blind.**

"Ghoul! You daydreaming again?"

"Can it Mikes! Can't a guy smoke in peace?" I shout, my voice coming out slightly raspy.

"Poison wants you. You cleared the floor yet?"

I give a quick scan of the area I can see, not that I hadn't checked already, but y'know, you never wanna be the guy responsible for the floor _not_ being clear. "Yeah... We still using those names? Last I heard Toro didn't like em." I yell, taking another long drag of my long-since worn out cigarette. "Anyway, tell your lazy brother I gotta sleep! We'd better be staying..."

The lanky blonde boy in front of me pushes his glasses further up his long, slightly crooked nose and wrings his hands together. He'd always been a nervous kid. His ashy blonde hair fell in his face, covering his rectangular glasses which he'd only recently been opting for sunglasses. The boy was a toothpick, much taller and slimmer than his older brother. So much so that half the time you couldn't tell they were related, despite the older of the two's complete adoration for his little brother.

And Poison.. Where would I start? He's a shorter guy, although taller than me, with firetruck red hair, which we all told him was ridiculous. This is a goddam pandemic, we want to be unnoticed! He went on and on about how he wanted to be the picture of rebellion and that red was the best color. So every month he drags us to a new abandoned drugstore and makes us risk our lives so he can be the color of freaking rebellion. We stopped complaining. Last time we did, Poison left on his own. It took us two days to find him.. for fucking hair dye. Don't get me wrong, he's not selfish, he's one of the most selfless people I know, especially when it comes to Mikes. He's not stupid, he knows the dangers. But him and the big guy up there at the head of this whole chaos, have history. And Posion is dead set on making his statements. But hey, so what? He's flamboyant. He went to art school for fucks sakes. He's the closest thing I know to a genius.

My thoughts were broken by my smoke being plucked from my lips by nimble fingers. I look up, about to tell Mikes to quit bothering me, when I see it loosely dangling between Poison's quirked mouth. My complaints quickly catch in my throat. The kid makes smoking look like an art.

"Didn't your mama ever tell you, my dear Ghoul, that staring is rude?" He smirked, arching a brow at me.

"Give me my goddam cigarette. Now." Just as I thought he was handing it back, he drops the cigarette and crushes it under his overwhelmingly shiny black boots, and blows the smoke into my face. Oh the sweet reminiscence of that awful vice.

Poison then turns on his heel and struts towards the back door.

"Get comfortable Ladies, we're setting up camp tonight." He commands as his colorful figure disappears behind the door. I'm left in my place, staring still at the door. What the fuck was that?

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

The building we're in is tall, one of those old skyscraper things. Except half the windows have been smashed out and replaced with tarp that flies around aggressively with the howling wind. The nights here are getting longer and harder, with the dust settling low in the sky and days spent in darkness. The shrieks of the **Blind** rake away at the soul until not much is really left of anyone we used to be. In fact, I don't even know what the fuck I was doing before this. I was probably just a shitty teen working in some shitty store to make whatever money I could. Probably did drugs, but who didn't. Teenage angst and narcotics walk the line of depression and impending doom hand-in-hand. Toro is huddled into a sleeping bag close to me, huddled right up towards the fire me and Mikes managed to make. I'm now thankful for the tarp all over the windows, or we'd be sleeping in the cold and dark. Our guns sit in a pile by Mikey's head as they recharge with the battery pack. The bright colors made no sense to me at first, much like the names. But I let Poison have his things, and I make few complaints. I love the dude, and whatever is left of his creativity, fire and hope is something I'm gonna do my damn hardest to keep. He said the colors and names gave us identity, and gave other people hope. Poison is the only one left who still believes in 'other people'. Or maybe that's just shitty of me to think. That we were the only ones left to survive. Fuck, I bet there are probably army marines or something living their best lives out there like some kinda video game. But it's unlikely.. The gas wiped out most of the population. Then came the dust. People couldn't breathe anymore, and a lot of people lost their sight. We still don't know where it came from, neither who or what caused it. But then people started acting shifty..

"Ghoul. Get to sleep." Mikes mumbles from the confines of his aggressively red sleeping bag.

He's probably right, it's late, and knowing Poison we'll be up at ass crack o' clock. I pull the rest of my green sleeping bag over my body, and try as hard as I can to even remember what the fuck a bed actually feels like. Back then, sleep was a luxury. If you were lucky enough to find somewhere safe to sleep, and even attempt to secure it, the memories of pain and screams would make the nights long and unbearable. But now, and call it what you will, I like to call it character development, but sleep comes quick and heavy, and before I know it.. I'm gone.

**Author's Note:**

> This is totally new and I don't know what I'm doing but I'm gay and venting


End file.
